Dancing
by St. Aelphaba
Summary: Maura suggests going dancing to Jane, who wonders if dancing is just dancing or if it means something more. Rizzles!


A/N: It's rather short but hopefully you all will enjoy it. Read & review!

* * *

The words that brought me here were, "Let's go dancing." So many implications were made that I'm not sure even she realized what she was saying as the words came out of her pert rosy lips. It was something innocent and irrevocably dirty.

The suggestion was made a week ago. "Next week, let's go dancing." And that had been that. It was decided. We were going dancing.

Except that was not that. The whole week had been about what to wear. How to act. How to dance. I don't dance. She dances; I don't. Or I didn't. But when she said, "Let's go dancing," it became clear that yes, I do dance. Because she will be.

For a few weeks it's been unclear what her intentions have been. Banter can be mistaken for flirtation, and flirtation for banter. When I'm upset I don't know if she's hugging me to be comforting to me or to herself. I don't know if this makes me comfortable or uncomfortable.

It has been back-and-forth for a while now. Our close friendship just registers to me as a different kind of closeness.

So "let's go dancing" can't only mean, "let's go dancing."

It has to mean more. It's dancing. It's _Maura_ suggesting dancing after a night of our legs brushing together under the table. It's beyond how we both reach for the wine and our hands meet and we both pull back, hissing at that tingling feeling creeping up our arms. Dancing is a step up from our usual dinner for two. Dancing is not pulling back from the tingling feeling. Dancing is going towards it. Dancing is moving into it.

So for her, I'm dancing. For her, I'm drawn to the tingling feeling.

I can't put my desire to be close to her into words. The words I'd use, I wouldn't like. I've had my fair share of being called a 'dyke;' enough to make me think about my sexuality. But I've never had to question it. Well, not before her. I really don't want to think about all the ways she's changed my life. For her, I'm a softie – I'm dancing and batting my eyelashes and giggling. I even let her dress me up. Sometimes. Because she's Maura.

So if there's one thing I won't let her change, it's the fact that I'm straight. I may do anything for her, and I may spend extra time in front of the mirror trying to look good for her, and I may be dancing, batting my eyelashes, giggling, and playing dress-up…

But that does not make me un-straight.

Attraction to my best friend does not make me un-straight.

Dancing with my best friend does not make me un-straight.

Even if it is her hips against mine, swaying to the beat. Her arms around my waist, her hands in the back pockets of my pants. Her lips pulled into a smug smile. Even if I return the smile, feeling dizzy from the loud music and how close she is to me.

She twirls around, her short dress spinning around her legs. Her hips find mine again, only this time she's facing away from me. She sways to the beat, her ass grinding into my center. _Left. Right. Left. Right._

I feel intoxicated. I haven't had anything to drink.

She's standing up straight but her hips are moving into mine in such a way that it feels like she's bent all the way over. Her hands move back to my ass, squeezing and pushing our bodies even closer. I groan but do not pull away.

My hands run along her sides, feeling her slender curves through the skin-tight dress she chose to wear today. She rolls her hips harder into me. _Left. Right. Left. Right._ I can't form any coherent thoughts other than, _Buhhh. _I wonder if that was her goal.

She bends down, bringing her hands to her hair, giving my hungry hands better access to her body. My nails graze her sides through her dress. I see goose bumps rise on her arms and know they must be travelling down her body.

I'm doing this to her.

I rest my hands on her thighs, my fingers splayed across her legs. I realize how short her dress is when I feel her bare skin under my hands and see that her dress has ridden up because of our grinding.

Not that I mind.

Maura rests her hands on her knees and keeps moving into me. _Left. Right. Left. Right._ In figure-eight movements. Circular motions. It's like she knows exactly how to make me feel good without touching me.

God. I want her to touch me.

We're dancing. And I was right; dancing doesn't mean just dancing.

It means _oh dear lord maura you are doing things to me no man has ever done and i ACTUALLY LIKE IT A LOT so turn the fuck around and kiss me goddammit_.

Which is not appropriate for where we are right now.

Maura has me wrapped around her finger. I know it and she knows it. She can tell from how I groan when she finally pulls her hips from mine and turns her whole body to face me. There's a sly smile on her face. She knows she has me. This moment has been building up for weeks; through the ambiguity of our friendship, we've both known that this was going to happen.

Our bodies instantly reconnect, front-to-front. I feel her hips grinding into mine from the front. I feel the friction of her breasts against mine. And finally, my whole body sighs in relief as her lips catch mine.

Weeks of tension have built up to these seconds of release. This is so much more liberating than a round in bed. I can feel my lips tingle. I almost know hers are, too.

But we're dancing. So we don't pull away from the tingling.

We are drawn toward it.

* * *

A/N: And now it's your turn! Reviews are a significant source of my daily fiber. Don't deny me my nutrition now!


End file.
